Fall Away
by chibiMuffin999
Summary: Bucky has collapsed and his body is shutting down. Steve is determined to save him, but is there even anything he can do? (T for some language and occasional violence) Non-slash, just brotherly love.
1. Chapter 1

It has been just over two years since Bucky's return when he first starts to lose his balance.

It's a small thing, no more than a misstep during a training spar; but it's out of place for an assassin with 70 years of perfect kills under his belt. Steve notices, but says nothing. He knows Bucky will deny it and they'll get nowhere, so he watches and waits.

When Bucky actually trips on the stairs, he asks what's wrong, but Bucky waves him off.  
"It's nothing. Just lost my footing for a second. Happens to the best of us."

It isn't until Bucky collapses and can't get up, during a run one hot humid morning, that he finally admits something is wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

"His brain chemistry is going nuts."  
Bruce says, closing the door to Bucky's Stark-sponsored hospital room. Bucky is still only half conscious in there and ice-cold and clammy to the touch.  
"There's a chemical compound in his cerebral fluids that shouldn't be there, and it's affecting him on a cellular level. I don't recognize the compound, but it's breaking down rapidly and interfering with everything from neural functions to motor skills."  
"So…Bucky's been poisoned? But how-"  
"No, no, not poisoned." Bruce interrupts, heading him off, "Not recently, anyway. This stuff is ingrained into his neural structure, and appears to have been there for quite some time. That is, in fact... part of the problem. While the compound degrades, it's taking everything else with it. I'd give it a month at most before you start really seeing the damage... I'm sorry, Cap."

Steve stares at him. The room spins and he has to sit down.  
"What do you mean 'damage'?"  
"Cryofreezing is extremely hard on the body. Your friend's cells were able to recover and repair damage as it happened due to your shared unusual healing capability, but they were permanently impaired and weakened by the repeated freeze and thaw process.  
If my theory is right, this compound is something very like the serum that turned you into Captain America. It was allowing him to keep regenerating damaged cells fast enough to prevent the effects from showing, but now that this serum is breaking down… I think it's just going to get worse."

Steve's mouth is suddenly dry cotton and he can barely find his voice behind it.  
"You're telling me he's going to die?"  
"If he's lucky, it'll be soon. I'm really, really sorry, Steve."


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky is awake and more or less alert when he enters the room. He came to about an hour ago and asked for Steve. The metal arm whirs lazily, but it's not responding the way it should anymore and bangs noisily around as he pushes himself up to sit.

"Phillips did say it might be a death sentence…" Bucky says ruefully. He rubs awkwardly at his artificial shoulder, sore from the dead-weight hanging off of it.

"Wait… _what_?" Steve freezes mid step in the doorway as his reality tilts on its axis a second time.  
"Colonel Phillips. Grumpy old guy? Your commanding officer? Snarkiest guy in the entire US Army?"  
"Yeah, I know who he was." Steve carefully keeps his voice steady, even though he wants to scream and demand an explanation. He forces himself to be patient.  
"He said the stuff they shot me full of might be dangerous. Said the best they could give me was I wasn't gonna keel over right away. ...I guess I'm doing pretty well if I outlived all of 'em after that…"  
"Stuff- ...they were testing the serum on you." Steve's eyes widen.  
"Yup." Bucky tries to shrug, but his left arm won't cooperate, so it is awkward and lopsided. "I guess they figured I was expendable."  
"But… you were… you _said _you were fine..."  
Bucky gives another one-armed shrug.  
"More or less, yeah. But you ever wonder why I had to 'recover' for 2 weeks after we got back?" Steve stares at him wordlessly. "They were trying to figure out what was floating around in my blood, and what it did and what it was gonna do."  
"God... Bucky… Why didn't you ever just _tell_ me something was wrong?!"

Bucky won't look him in the eye anymore, Steve notices. Just studies the fingers on his right hand like he's never seen them before.  
"Short answer: because I was ordered not to." He talks right over Steve's outrage at this. "More than that, what the hell would you have done about it? You had a crazy super Nazi to tangle with. One guy _maybe_ getting sick someday just doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot at that point."  
Steve shakes his head.  
"It means a lot to me."

"And _that's_ why I wasn't allowed to tell you." Bucky finally raises his eyes, and Steve thinks he finally sees the weight of 70 years in them. "You hear my unit's been captured and go AWOL to infiltrate HYDRA _alone_ less an hour later. Just on the off chance that _maybe_ I'm not dead yet. You don't think about it, you just _do_ it." Bucky's eyes are pinning him in place and Steve can't make himself look away. "God knows what you'd've done if you knew about this. You never could accept losing, Steve, and you never would back down. I didn't even know if whatever they gave me was ever gonna _do_ anything anyway...  
Besides... you think I wanted to watch you rip yourself apart trying to solve a problem that hasn't even happened? I know you, Steve. I saw your face when you found me in Zola's lab and I _know_ that goddamned look you gave me! You'd have come unglued until everything was back to 'normal' again."

He sighs heavily, dropping his eyes to his lap again before for a moment. "...I'm only telling you now because… well.. obviously it did something after all...and I don't like lying to you..."  
Bucky just looks spent.  
"I'm going to fix this." Steve says.  
"Jeesus, Steve, you see what I mean? You even listening to me? I appreciate it, really I do, but there's nothin' you can do."  
"I'm _going _to fix this." Steve says again, steel in his voice. "And I'd have started on it a long time ago if you'd just trusted me."  
"That's the thing, Steve." Bucky's voice is ancient and tired and it makes Steve's bones ache just listening to it. "I do trust you. With my life. And you used to trust me with yours... So trust me when I tell you, this is just gonna waste a lot of time and energy. I don't know how much time I have before I turn back into a pumpkin, but I want to spend it with my family. That means you... Living, not playing lab-rat again."  
"You want me to give up on you…"  
"Yeah. ...Just this once."  
Bucky's eyes are painful on him. Silently willing him to understand - this is one fight he has to walk away from.

_Just this once._

Steve knows he's being selfish. He knows he needs to respect his friend's wishes. His… _last_ wishes.  
"I can't. I'm sorry." Steve says. He can't stand the way Bucky's face falls.  
"No you're not." Bucky mutters as the door closes behind his best friend.


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you know?!"  
Steve barrels through the heavy steel and glass doors of Fury's temporary office, breaking one of the hinges. He barely even notices.  
"You want to at least tell me what you're pissed off about this time, Cap?" Nick calmly sets down the file he's been reading without looking up. "I'm losing track of all the shit I'm supposed to be responsible for. Gettin' old after all."  
He's recently taken to wearing reflective black sunglasses in place of the trademark patch that used to cover the enormous scar over his right eye. The effect is emotionless and eerie, and Steve is certain it's 100% intentional.  
"Bucky. The serum." Steve slams his hand down on the desk to punctuate each word, cracking the wood. Fury raises an eyebrow.  
"Your friend being super-powered isn't exactly news." He says, nonplussed.  
"HYDRA experimented on him during the war. They gave him some version of the super-soldier serum and it's _killing_ him." Steve's voice has raised to a tight, vicious snarl. He can't help it. ...But he isn't really trying to either.

Fury's face is a mask, no hints at what's beneath it. Steve remembers how much he's always hated this.  
"Rogers, even if I _did_ know; in case you forgot, all of S.H.I.E.L.D's data got posted to the internet. It's not like I could hide that from you, even if I wanted to."  
"I didn't ask you what's online, sir. Did. you. know?"  
He isn't in the mood for spy games. Someone has to have known. HYDRA was here all this time, using the Winter Soldier. There is no way _someone_ hadn't known.  
"No." Nick tips his sunglasses down. He's looking him dead in the eye for once. "Not until Banner called me two days ago. But do you really think standing here punching holes in the furniture is doing Barnes any good?"  
"Who would have the formula they used?" Steve ignores the question.  
"Zola, probably." Nick leans back in his chair, a picture of casual conversation. A tiny downward tick of his lip is all that gives him away. "Too bad he's dead. For keeps this time. We made sure."  
"His notes-"  
"Went with him. They were destroyed by the missile strike. Apparently HYDRA was a little paranoid. Hard-copy only."  
"He's going to die, Nick. There has to be something I can do."  
Fury sighs, bracing his hands on his knees as he stands. He knows there's no point in saying it. Steve is notorious for refusing to listen to what he doesn't want to hear… but it needs to be said.  
"Cap… I don't know if there's anybody both more _and_ less capable of understanding this than you… but you _can't_ win 'em all. Sometimes, you lose a soldier."

Steve's blue eyes flash dangerously, and they both know he isn't listening anymore. Steve won't leave it at that. He's convinced himself already that there's a solution. He just has to find it.  
"There's nothing you can do, Rogers."  
"I'm not giving up."  
"I figured. But I can't help you. I wish I could."  
"That'd be a first."

Steve breaks the remaining hinges on his way out. He doesn't try to pretend it's an accident.


	5. Chapter 5

"You're being a selfish prick, Rogers."  
Natasha sits across from him in her civilian clothes, ankles neatly crossed, nursing an enormous, steaming mug of tea. Her disapproval is less than subtle..

"I just want to help him." Steve says quietly. He'd been expecting her to agree with him -that something has to be done- and he feels a bit blindsided by her hostility.

"You forget that Barnes spent _75 years_ getting brainwashed, Cap?" She takes a long, calm, sip; and cold green eyes pin him to his seat when she looks up. "He didn't get to make a single decision for 75. fucking. _years_." Steam wafts across his folded hands as she blows languidly over the surface of her tea. "Guy finally starts making his own decisions and suddenly you wanna take that away from him all over again because _you_ can't let go?"  
He waves the steam away. She raises mirror-like eyes to his; a faint smirk on her lips that doesn't quite reach them. "You don't have to like it. I don't like it either. Doesn't change the fact that this is _his_ decision, and we need to respect it."

"He'll die if I don't do something, Nat. I'm just supposed to let that happen?"

"It's _his_ choice, Rogers." Her voice is suddenly steel and razor wire, dropping the lazy purr of moments ago. She stares him down across the table, as only she can. Her eyes are ice-cold and their weight is palpable, but he manages not to flinch. "You swore up and down to that boy that _nobody_ was ever gonna take choices away from him again. Or did that just mean nobody but _you_?" He can't help it. He flinches minutely at that. Natasha is painfully good at finding and using weak spots to make her point. As usual, she presses her advantage. "If you really care as much as you say you do, _let. him. go_. Don't make him jump through hoops so you can feel better about it later."

Steve opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He searches for words, and finds his mind scattered and useless. The lump that's caught in his throat won't budge.  
He rallies himself and tries again.  
She has to understand what she's asking of him.

"I can't." Steve's voice breaks, but he presses on. "I've lost him- _mourned_ him twice already and I just… I can't. I _can't_." He feels dampness on his cheeks, knows how pathetic he must sound, but it's too late to stop himself now. "Don't I get to be selfish just once? ...I _know_ it's selfish, but I've already watched him die once… Please, don't ask me to do it again."  
"Steve-"  
"-What if it was Clint?"  
"What the hell are you-?"  
"If it was Clint Barton we were talking about right now," He pushes, stronger now, sensing a hairline crack in her armor. "Would you still be so sure?"  
"We're not talking about Clint."  
Her head tilts ever so slightly to one side, eyes narrowed. He can see her momentarily checking out of conversation mode to assess this new turn. He recognizes her 'appraising' face and presses on before she can come to a decision about how best to 'talk him around'. He knows that's one fight she will almost certainly win.

"No, we're not. But we might as well be. Or...what about Fury?" He feels like a bastard, but he's had to fight dirty once or twice before. _Whatever it takes.._. "We both thought he was dead once. Could you just sit there and watch him die again? You'd let it happen and not even try to stop it?"  
She blinks, then stares at him, her mouth working. He distantly makes a mental note that it is in fact possible to fluster Natasha Romanoff. He wouldn't have expected that.

He can tell she's considering lie after lie. For a moment, he thinks he's mistaken her reaction again. Well as they know each other now, he's never sure how much of what she shows him is Natasha and how much is Black Widow, world-class assassin and spy. She can cry on command, smile, flirt, and slit your throat without a backward glance.  
He waits.  
Eventually, her face hidden behind a curtain of copper and fire hair, he senses her reaching a decision. Her fingers close over the little silver arrow around her neck.  
She's silent for a long time before she finally answers.  
"Goddamn you, Rogers… Fine. I'll help however I can. … But you're still a prick."

He decides he can live with that.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony shakes his head.  
"I don't do magic potions, Captain Freezer-pop. I'm sorry about your friend, really - he's a good kid, but what'dya want me to do, exactly? Wave my magic science wand?"

"I want you to do something. _Anything_ you can do to help him." Steve says, not even realizing how aggressive he's becoming. "Bucky is-" He almost chokes on the word "-dying."

"Look... Cap," Tony's eyes have gone soft and sympathetic. He's put down the … whatever the hell gizmo he was toying with, but he's not convinced. "I'm not a biologist. I build weapons and tech… I don't know diddly about super syrup."

"I already asked Dr. Banner, and he said he'd try, but he's not making any progress. You're the only other person I know who might be able to figure this out. Between the two of you- _Please._"

Tony gives him a hard look, but it only lasts a moment. He shrugs, defeated. He's great at snark and sarcasm, but he's got a soft heart underneath and they both know it.

"JARVIS, pull everything known about James Buchanan Barnes and/or Winter Soldier. Include search terms 'Bucky' and 'the asset'."  
If he notices Steve's momentary flinch at the term 'asset', he doesn't comment.  
" -Anything to do with soldier syrup, put that aside special."

"_Thank you, _Tony. _Thank you_."

Steve's doing that earnest boy scout thing again, the one where he reminds everyone of a wiggly little puppy. As usual, it makes Tony uncomfortable. He doesn't know what to do with that much naked gratitude all directed at him, so he shrugs it off.

"No promises Cap' but I'll let you know what I come up with… and I'll compare notes with Bruce. If we get anything, you'll be the first to know."


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky is restless and beginning to look a bit gaunt when he gets home. It's nearly 2 in the morning. Steve feels eyes boring into him as he quietly slips out of his shoes and tries to pretend either of them really believe that Bucky's asleep.  
"Busy day?" Bucky's voice is rough. He sounds thirsty. Steve brings him some water without being asked and sits down beside him on the bed. Bucky holds the glass in his remaining hand, but he doesn't drink. His metal arm has finally been cinched tightly into a sling against his chest. It doesn't work anymore and he knows Bucky's shoulder is probably still aching from the weight.

"I had to try." Steve says honestly, meeting Bucky's tired eyes in the darkness.  
Neither of them speaks for a few minutes.

"Steve..."  
Bucky is the first to break the silence, as usual.  
"Please. Don't leave me alone again. ...Not now." There's a desperation, a pleading note, that Steve hasn't heard since Bucky left the Winter Soldier behind. Something inside him twists. "I can't do this on my own."

Neither of them acknowledges that he has been far from alone. Word travels fast.  
The other Avengers have been nearby. They both know what he means.

"You don't have to." Steve does his best to be the strong one, though that was always Bucky's speciality. He isn't even sure he has enough strength for himself right now; let alone enough to go around. "I'm sorry…"  
Bucky's head comes to rest on his shoulder and he looks so weary, like he's just been holding himself together all day, trying to make it to the end. Steve gently touches the hair that's brushing against his face, and hopes it's soothing. He's never been very good at this.  
"You're all I've got left from… before." Bucky says softly. "I always hoped I'd have family with me when-"  
He doesn't finish. Neither of them wants to be the first to say it out loud.

"Worry about that later." Steve pats his arm, as reassuringly as he can manage. "A lot later. We're gonna get you through this and out the other side, good as new."  
"Steve-"  
"I won't leave… but I won't stop trying, either."  
"_**Steve.**_"  
Bucky raises his head and locks onto his eyes, daring him to try to look away.  
"...Just don't. Don't do this to yourself... or me. You think it's hard for you to accept? How do you think _I_ feel?"  
Steve can't answer that. He can suddenly barely breathe.  
"I don't wanna die any more than I ever did… " Bucky swallows roughly, pushing back a tired whimper, "...but it's gonna happen. Lying about it doesn't change that."

"Maybe… maybe not. You came back from certain death at least a couple of times already, Buck. Can't a guy hope for one more?"  
Steve smiles at him, and it is the saddest thing Bucky thinks he has ever seen in his life. He tries to smile back, but the strength just isn't there.  
Bucky sighs, leaning hard into Steve's shoulder for support.

"You are a stubborn little punk, Rogers."  
He says it affectionately. He appreciates knowing that, even if it's pointless, Steve still cares enough to try the impossible on his behalf. This is Steve's core: what makes him the man he is. It's comforting in an annoying sort of way.

"And you're a pushy jerk, Barnes." Steve gently ruffles his hair. It's a testament to how bone-tired Bucky must be that he barely even twitches in response. "Get some sleep."  
"You quit disappearing on me, and I just might." Bucky mutters, reluctantly raising his head to drain the neglected glass in one massive gulp and set it aside. To Steve's relief, he doesn't choke on it.

Steve curls up beside his friend in silence, ignoring the muted chill of the metal limb against his back. He feels the mattress dip heavily as Bucky eases himself down behind him. Human fingers catch a handful of his t-shirt and latch on tight.  
Steve can't decide if he wants to smile or cry. He closes his eyes and tries to relax.

It doesn't work... but he tries.

Bucky is too tired to notice if his friend's breathing is artificially even; if he doesn't snore like he usually would. Steve is here and that's what matters. He'll worry about details in the morning.

* * *

Steve lies awake for a long time, just listening to the sound of Bucky breathing. It's oddly comforting that the sound is deep, and steady, and even. He'd been half afraid it would wheeze or…  
… _or __**stop**__.  
_He resists the urge to shudder at that thought.

He wonders vaguely if this is what it was like for Bucky - 95 years and another life ago- when his friend sat vigil over him through the neverending parade of illnesses that _little Steve from Brooklyn_ had suffered. Between Asthma, heart murmurs, a bout of Scarlet Fever, and getting flattened by a plethora of colds and flu; Steve had spent more of his childhood wheezing, feverish and miserable, lying flat on his back on a dirty old mattress… really than he had doing anything else.

He wonders if Bucky felt the way he does now - helpless and useless- in that dark, musty, Brooklyn apartment… If he too was scared to death that his best friend was going to snuff out in the night.  
He wonders for the first time how often Bucky actually slept when he stayed over, and how many nights he just laid awake instead, and watched for the continued rise and fall of a fragile bird chest under a thin blanket.

The image settles heavily over Steve and soaks into his skin; an ache that refuses to leave him. He isn't sure he could move just now, even if he wanted to.

He doesn't care if there's not quite enough room for both of them in Bucky's narrow bed.  
Right now he doesn't care where he sleeps... or _if_ he sleeps. His bed, Bucky's bed; it's all one and the same. He'd sleep in a shoebox at this point if it would help his friend get the rest he needs.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve is true to his word.

He stays in the apartment for the next two days solid, only checking in with Stark and Banner when Bucky is asleep. So far, they've made little progress, but Tony is still going through the results of the search (there are a lot of records) and Bruce has more blood tests running.

Steve waits and hopes.

Bucky seems reasonably stable for now, though he's often tired, and his eyes are beginning to looks sunken and faded. He's quieter than he'd been, and Steve's not sure if it's illness or just depression that's causing it.

* * *

Steve goes out of his way to keep things light. He puts on movies, fishes out old board games, records, and magazines. Anything to try to keep them busy. He pulls the couch cushions onto the floor and builds a ridiculous fort out of blankets over them. Bucky doesn't play along -he tires easily now, and he's down to one functional arm- but he smiles fondly. Steve is pleased with himself.  
They sit and talk a bit: about the past, about what they miss. Steve does his best to only talk about the good times, but Bucky refuses to shy from the bad; and sometimes they lapse into silence when they just can't stand thinking about it anymore.

* * *

Sam has bowed out of movie night, though he was the one who selected the cut-rate comedy they are going to watch. He has work at the VA early in the morning and a long day to follow. He promises to catch the next one with them. They tease him goodnaturedly for a bit - until he waves them off in mock exasperation and heads to bed- but neither minds a chance to hang out alone. They decide to pretend that the war hasn't happened: that they're still just stupid 10 year old boys in Brooklyn. Just for a night.

They pull the cushions onto the floor again and share a huge bowl of popcorn between them. Bucky proves his aim is still plenty accurate (even if it is just popcorn, and thrown with his off-arm) when he manages to land 5 kernels in Steve's hair, unnoticed. The 6th slides down the back of his friend's shirt by mistake and Steve squeaks like a 12 year old girl when he feels it. Bucky almost tips over from laughing.


	9. Chapter 9

It happens close to midnight.

One moment Bucky is laughing at some stupid joke in the movie they've been watching, and the next he can't breathe.  
He turns a helpless, frightened face to Steve, making a strange choking noise. His eyes roll back in his head. Steve barely manages to catch him before he crumples.  
He quickly eases Bucky onto the floor, checks frantically for a pulse, and panics when he can't find one.  
He shouts for help.

Sam rounds the corner from his bedroom less than 30 seconds later, wide awake though he'd been asleep a moment ago. He's well aware that Captain America isn't in the habit of sounding scared out of his mind unless something very _very_ bad has just happened.

He doesn't waste time asking, just drops to his knees beside Steve and dials 911. His examination is fast and thorough from years of practice doing pararescue, and by the time the dispatcher connects, he's ready for her. He rapid-fires directions and a quick description of 'patient unresponsive, not breathing, possible coronary distress', then tosses the phone to Steve and pushes him out of the way. Steve doesn't know CPR. Sam does.

Steve can't remember ever feeling more helpless… more useless, than he does in those tense moments before there is a weak gasp and a shaky breath. It's not nearly strong enough, but the chest rises and falls again.

Bucky is breathing for himself again, though it's too shallow and too fast, when EMTs swarm the small apartment. His eyes are closed and his face is deathly pale and sheened with sweat. He doesn't respond when Steve tries to wake him. They take Bucky away on a gurney, under an oxygen mask, and Steve tries not to remember the last time he saw his friend this fragile.

* * *

They have to be satisfied with following behind the ambulance. It simply isn't large enough for more than one super-soldier at a time.

Sam kindly doesn't comment when Steve sobs quietly, punctuated with muffled swearing, for the entire ride to the hospital. He just takes out his phone and quietly calls in to work. He leaves a voicemail, though he's sure he'll hear about it later. It's going to be a long night.

Steve doesn't want to think about what would have happened if Sam hadn't been there tonight - if he'd been out on a mission or working late. ...If Steve had been left alone with an unconscious Bucky, slowly expiring on his living room floor, and no idea what to do.  
That thought eats at his mind. He can't get a grip for a long time, though he tries. That, in and of itself, scares him.  
He's let Bucky down, he thinks. He's let him down and he's still letting him down... and there's not a goddamn thing he can do about it. That hurts worst of all.

It's all he can do not to tear the door straight off of the car when they arrive - opening and closing it just feels like a waste of precious time - but he makes himself do it anyway, as gently as he can manage. Sam has contributed quite enough already - there's no need to cost him a second car in less than 3 years.  
Even so, Steve is halfway to the ER before Sam has even turned off the engine. He knows Sam will understand.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's note: Sorry to keep updating this chapter. The site is doing strange things to the formatting and I keep having to go back and fix them. Hopefully will be all straightened out this time...**_

* * *

"Hey cupcake."

Natasha drops from the rafters, feet hooking on either side of the man's shoulders and spiraling him neatly into the floor. She's got a knee in his chest and a pistol in his face before he even has a chance to register surprise. Sometimes her job is just way way too easy.

"You know who I am, don't you?" He nods frantically, murmuring in terrified Russian. He's big, but not very bright, she can tell. "I need a little information."

She notices him trying to subtly draw a phone out of his pocket and stomps down on the hand, kicking his phone out of his reach. She raises an eyebrow at him and he goes completely still.  
"You're going to give me what I want, or we're going to see just how much I remember from the good old days." She smiles her most predatory smile "...335 ways to kill a man with a ballpoint pen." She plucks one from his pocket and twirls it between her fingers. The pistol never wavers. He actually whimpers. "Won't that be fun?"

Unsurprisingly, the office jockey doesn't know much, but he has a name. She'll take it.

* * *

She doesn't feel the need to bother with theatrics this time. Her prey is 89 and was hardly formidable to begin with, if the files are to be believed. Sometimes, if you want something, you just have to ask nice and say pretty please.

* * *

"Nice evening." Natasha melts out of the shadows of the darkened kitchen.

To his credit, her prey doesn't waste everyone's time demanding to know who's there, or what she wants, or any of the other stupid questions she tends to get.  
_Right, because the assassin who just appeared in your kitchen is going to answer all of your questions before they murder you?  
_It's nice to play ball with someone who actually understands the situation they're in, for once.

She waits patiently while he slams the silent-alarm button under the table. She waits while the reality that no one is coming to help him dawns. He knows better than to scream, because then she'd have to silence him. HYDRA taught him that much.

"Congrats, you had a pretty nice security set-up." She says conversationally, pulling up a chair to the table where the man's untouched dinner is slowly congealing. "Took me like 10 minutes to shut it down."  
The old man stares at her in blatant fear.  
"What do you want? If you're after money-"

_Ah, there it is. There's the stupid._ She's a little disappointed.

"Oh please, Gerhard." She sighs, turning a taser-disc over and over in her fingers. He watches her with morbid fascination. "If I wanted money, why bother talking to _you_? No, I think you know why I'm here."  
"I don't work for them anymore. I-"  
"Good. That means you _might_ still be alive when we're done here. But frankly I don't really give a crap if you are or not, so quit stalling if you'd like to see morning. I need to know about the Winter Soldier project. Impress me."  
"Winter Soldier? But I was only an assistant, fraulein… And the Soldier project failed. We lost the subject over two years ago-"  
"You keep stalling and you'll be doing it with one less finger." She says lightly, as if they were discussing lunch plans. He blanches.

"We began under the Red Skull-" He begins, glancing at her. He's started to sweat, beading in thin wisps of white hair and dripping down crepe-paper skin onto his collar. She nods at him to continue.

"We had several test subjects who did not survive the initial procedure. Ten in total before we found success with an American Sergeant - Barneby or something like that."  
"Barnes." She corrects lazily, taser still twirling in her fingertips.  
"Ja...Ja. Dr. Zola had nearly perfected the formula, but it had side effects. We couldn't afford to waste the lives of our own soldiers until it was perfect, and Sergeant Barnes showed great promise of survival. I was sent to our core base with a copy of the Doctor's most current research, to be filed. Unfortunately, while I was away, our base was infiltrated and destroyed by Captain America." He spits the name bitterly. "Dr. Zola was able to escape with much of his research, but the subject was removed from our care. I don't know what other factors contributed to his survival, it's very unscientific-"  
"Focus." She reminds him.  
"...We recovered the subject -with a great deal of damage- the following winter. One arm had been completely destroyed, and had to be removed. We went to a lot of trouble repairing the asset, but were remarkably pleased at his ability to survive. We decided to continue the process and make use of this subject in the field. He rarely questioned anything after the first few wipes, you see, and Dr. Zola particularly appreciated the irony. American war hero, closest friend of Captain America," Again his voice drips with venom. "-now HYDRA's greatest weapon…"  
He has caught himself saying too much. He shrugs, trying to seem casual.  
"I had little hand in his care after that. I was moved to logistics and saw only occasional traces of his continued existence. I was amazed at how well he had been preserved when I saw the reports following the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D."  
She catches the note of professional pride in his voice and her skin crawls. Gerhard Schultz has a subtle sort of creepiness.

"So how'd you do it?"  
"Do what?"  
"Don't fuck with me, Schultz. Your security boys are all taking a nice nap and if you piss me off you're going to take a lot longer one."  
"I… I don't recall."  
"Try again." She warns, leaning just a hair closer, danger in every line of her body.  
He leans away.  
"I don't remember, fraulein, please! It was over 70 years ago!"  
"That's too bad." She draws and aims her pistol in one fluid motion and his eyes are the size of saucers. "Because I just wasted a lot of time on you in that case, and I've got way better things to do." She calmly thumbs back the hammer.  
"Wait, wait!" He is trembling now, trying to get as far from her as his chair will allow. He knows better than to try to run. "I don't have the schematics, but I know where you can find them."  
The pistol remains steadily pointed at his head.  
"You have the next 30 seconds to prove that."

He gives her an address, then draws her a map.  
A copy of Dr. Zola's notes had been buried in a lockbox under the floor of an abandoned compound in the mid 1970s, shortly before Zola's 'death', on the off chance that something might go wrong with the process of transferring his consciousness. Gerhard Schultz was the last living member of the team charged with their safe-keeping. Interestingly, there had been no official record kept of the box's existence. HYDRA really was paranoid.

"Now will you please let me be, fraulein?" He begs her, frazzled and skittish. She's fairly sure he's not hiding anything else. Fairly sure, anyway.  
"One more question, Ger, and you'd better to be _real, real_ honest with me." She smiles disarmingly, which should have terrified a smarter man. "What did your 'assisting' consist of, exactly?"  
"I only administered the injections and took dictation." He says wearily, then realizes he's said the wrong thing when her head tilts and her eyes narrow.  
"Really? You administered the injections? Now that's interesting." She's dangerously calm.  
Natasha vividly remembers Bucky's nightmare screams, even from the few times he's fallen asleep in her presence. She knows from Steve that there were more. A lot more.  
She remembers the harsh, palpable terror in his eyes when he told her about what little he could remember before Steve had found him. How whatever they'd given him burned in his veins until he'd screamed himself hoarse and his voice just disappeared. How they'd clinically noted his reactions before dosing him again.

She presses the tip of the gun against the wrinkled throat and the old man swallows hard against it.  
"That wasn't very nice of you Gerhard."  
"I was only following orders, fraulein."  
"No you weren't."  
"Please…"  
"This is from Sergeant Barnes."

She has already holstered her weapon and is slipping out through a kitchen window by the time he hits the ground. If she did this right, and she knows she has, it'll be a good 5 minutes before he bleeds out down his own throat. There's no chance of survival, not even if medics were at his side right here, right now. It's faster than he deserves, but she's on a tight schedule.


	11. Chapter 11

"Romanoff, where the hell are you?" Fury's voice booms out of her phone the instant she picks it up.  
"Hey Nick." Her phone is sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder as she scrubs stubborn stains out from under her nails. The box was buried exactly where it was supposed to be, but apparently there was still some security around it. She'd had to make a bit of a mess.  
"Just getting a little R&R."

She'd set a small electrical fire burning before leaving Gerhard Schultz's house and outright leveled the compound with a hotwired self-destruct sequence. Every trace of her visit should be up in flames by now. No need for anyone to be looking for her specifically, so she'll assume this is a social call for now.

"Right."  
She can practically see his raised eyebrow and rolled eye.  
"Need something?" She dries her hands, considering the best way to crack the box open.

"Yeah, I need your ass back in DC, now. Barnes went into cardiac arrest last night and Rogers is completely useless."  
"сукин сын!"  
"Yeah, that's what I said, too. Look, Natasha, I need somebody down here. Wilson's got his hands full trying to keep Rogers from doing anything stupid and that puts us down three capable Avengers. I can't have anybody taking field trips."  
"Can you get me a ride?"  
"Already did. They'll pick you up outside Munich in 2 hours."  
"I'll be waiting. Keep everybody glued together until I get there. Romanoff, out."

_Subtlety is overrated anyway_ she decides. She shoots the lock off of the box, scoops the contents into a folder and stuffs it and her spare collection of equipment into a duffle-bag. She'll dispose of the box on her way out of town.  
She has a plane to catch.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky has finally stabilized enough that Steve is allowed in to see him. The man in the hospital bed is hooked up to more monitors, tubes, and wires than Steve had ever thought could fit on one human body.  
Aside from the gentle beep of a heart monitor, reassuring him that Bucky is still alive under all that, the room is silent.

"Hey Buck…"  
He sits down beside the bed, not really expecting an answer. None comes.  
"I… I don't know if you can hear me right now, but I hope you can. I'm not giving up on you, buddy." He sniffles faintly the silence."Not yet…"  
His eyes are red and he has no more tears to give, but he can still feel the thick grief building in his throat. He isn't so sure he can believe his own words anymore.

Sam sets a hand on his shoulder, offering a styrofoam cup full of cheap acrid coffee. Sam has already drained half of his own, and he looks as tired as Steve feels.  
"You're a life-saver, Sam." Steve says, accepting it gratefully. His eyes are locked on Bucky's still face, half hidden by an oxygen mask. "… I mean literally. You saved his life."

"Somebody has to keep you two morons out of trouble." Sam says gently. It's toothless teasing and it falls a bit flat, but it's a good effort, anyway. "You holding up ok?"

Steve sighs and hangs his head for a moment.  
"I don't know." He answers honestly. "I didn't think it was this bad already."  
"I don't think any of us did."  
Sam glances over the array of equipment that's keeping their friend alive. "Bucky's a close-lipped bastard sometimes. Doesn't like to talk about what's wrong with him, I've noticed."  
"Yeah, he never did. Used to have to pry it out of him, even before the war."  
Steve sighs, then breaths a humorless laugh. He tears his eyes away to look up at Sam, still standing at his shoulder.  
"I got him sick this one time when we were kids. Sicker than a _dog_. I was like Typhoid Steve or something... He wouldn't admit it for three days - not until his mom caught him throwing up. He caught hell for that one."  
Sam chuckles faintly.  
"You know you're like a stubborn magnet? Do you actually know _anybody_ that'll just admit it when they have a problem?"

Steve shrugs.  
"Well, I mean you do most of the time. And Bruce does, sometimes. But then again, that's because his problem is usually about 8 feet tall, green, and pissed off. If he ignores 'the other guy', people get hurt..."

He tentatively reaches out and very gingerly touches Bucky's arm. He's not sure what he was hoping for, but Bucky doesn't so much as twitch. He retreats dejectedly, letting the hand fall into his lap.  
"...You think he or Stark have figured anything out yet?"

Sam shrugs wearily, sinking into an old arm-chair that looks like it was at some point mauled by a bear. It's the only unoccupied surface left in the room.

"I dunno. I imagine somebody probably told them what happened by now. If they have anything, I think we'll know soon."

"Soon enough?"

Sam doesn't answer.


	13. Chapter 13

"The notes _are_ extensive..." Bruce comments, flipping through a notebook full of tiny, neatly looping handwriting. "There are several mentions of the serum... but I'm not seeing much about actual chemical formulas."  
"Ditto for this one." Tony waves another notebook over his head without looking up. He tosses it into a pile of other papers they've read and discarded.  
He's just finishing up rummaging through a large beige envelope. There's a lot of paper in it, but not very much useful information.  
He's about to set it aside when something catches his eye. He pulls a crumpled sheet out of the bottom and scans over it. His chair topples over backward as he makes a sudden noise in his throat that sounds a little like a muffled _eureka_.

"What, did you find something?" Bruce's head snaps up eagerly.  
"Find something? I found _the_ something! Check this out." Tony shoves the paper at him. "This is what Cap was looking for!"

"This is the formula." Bruce says raptly, oblivious that he's stating the obvious. He pores over it.  
"So that goes… and carry the 2… and they mixed… oh that was a stupid thing to do." He frowns. "It's a wonder this worked at all, with all the fudging of calculations involved. Creative chemistry." He mutters derisively. "Alright… if I'm reading this correctly…. I _think_ I see what they did wrong... now I just have to figure out how to fix it..."

"How much time do we have, Romanoff?" Tony asks a monitor on the wall.  
"Yesterday would be peachy, boys." Natasha's voice echoes over the speakerphone. She's already halfway across the city, on her way to the ER. She can't do much for Bucky at the moment, but she wants to see the damage for herself.  
And if she knows Rogers, he'll be sitting there like a sad-eyed golden retriever at a fresh grave; no idea what to do with himself. She's not going to leave Wilson to handle that mess alone. She can be ruthless at times, but she's not that cruel.

Tony groans and rubs at tired eyes.  
"That good, huh?"  
"Barnes just about died last night, Stark." She reminds him. " I don't think he's got any more close-calls left in him. We're working against the clock, here.  
I'm not about to let HYDRA take anybody else from us, and Rogers is gonna be a basket-case if anything else happens to his bestie… So if you could hurry it up with the science-ing-"  
"We're on it."

* * *

"Hydrogenated?!" Bruce snaps a pencil between his fingers. This shoddy science is really beginning to get on his nerves, and the practically non-existent time-table they have to work with isn't helping.  
" Why the hell- Ugh, sloppy sloppy work.  
If I create a solution of- no, that won't work because of the- … well maybe-"  
He's been at this for 3 hours already, and he's still scribbling on a notepad, marking out molecules and chemical combinations. He's so close to the solution, he can feel it. He just can't quite figure out the part that's causing the serum to break down. It should have remained consistently stable from the outset, no sudden degradation, assuming the formula is correct. There's a missing piece of the puzzle and it's _juuuuust_ out of his reach.

Assuming the formula is correct-

_… Assuming the formula is correct…_

Realization hits him like thunder. Zola's calculations were sloppy at best. He clearly wasn't as rigorous as they'd have given him credit for, and for all his loyalty to HYDRA, it's well known he was terrified of Schmidt… He could easily slip up just enough-

Bruce checks the equations again, just to make sure. He hasn't imagined it.  
The readouts from Bucky's blood tests don't match what should be present if this formula was followed exactly. It's just slightly off. Just enough to cause a reaction and start breaking down, under significant stress…  
Stress like being frozen and thawed repeatedly for most of a century, for instance.

If he can compensate for the effects of too much of one compound and not enough of the other… if he can rebalance the chemical makeup of Bucky's brain…  
He just might have figured this thing out.

"Tony, I still have some work to do, but how fast can you get us to that hospital?"  
"Banner, I have every tech goody known to man. Give me a little credit here. Half hour, tops."  
"Give me 1 and a half. I think I might've cracked it."


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's note: Grrr, stop changing my formatting when I upload, website! It's very annoying :/**_

* * *

Bucky still hasn't surfaced. He just lies there like he's already dead; the slow, feeble rise and fall of his chest the only indication that there is still any life left.  
Every now and then a nurse appears with a fresh IV drip, or a chart to take down vitals on. Otherwise they are left alone.

Every hour that they wait for a miracle, Bucky looks more and more hollowed out. Steve isn't sure how much more of him there is left to fade away.  
He's too preoccupied to even hear the door opening.

* * *

As Natasha had expected, Steve is squashed uncomfortably onto a laughably undersized office chair beside the bed. Sam is folded into a beat-up wingback across from him, sound asleep. There's not a stick of unoccupied furniture anywhere in the room. All of them look ragged and worn out. Barnes looks like the world's most morbid pinata.

"Hey Cap." She stops behind his chair.

Steve glances up with barely an acknowledging grunt, apparently unsurprised that she has just materialized out of thin air. He's too tired and heartsick to be startled right now.  
The big blonde puppy offers her the saddest smile Natasha has ever seen. It's not even close to reaching his eyes.  
In a moment, Steve's back to his vigil, like he's trying to will health back into his friend just by staring hard enough at him. She leans over his shoulder to take a closer look at the patient.

Bucky's skin looks like wax paper and his eyes are so sunken they're starting to look bruised. He's painfully pale, but his face is flushed against the chalky-white of his skin and she can see at a glance that he's burning with fever. His entire body is filmed in a cold sweat  
Every available inch of flesh is covered in wires, electrodes, IV needles, and breathing tubes. She has to look through a virtual jungle just to see his face.  
He looks bad. They're running out of time and she knows it. She imagines Steve does too.

"I gave the wonder-twins something to play with on the way here." She offers, half playfully, turning to him.  
"Translation for the geezer in the room?" Steve shifts his gaze reluctantly to her. He's not even rising to the generation-gap bait anymore. He _must_ be miserable...

She pats his enormous shoulder, feeling an unexpected stab of guilty anxiety.  
"Never mind, Rogers."  
No point in handing him hope when there's no guarantee of results. Even the egg-heads might not be able to deliver.  
Time to change the subject.  
"How long have you had your ass crammed into that itty bitty chair?" She deflects, giving him a gentle shove. The chair squeaks in protest.  
"Five or six hours, I think." He shrugs. "He asked me not to leave him alone again. I'm not going anywhere."

She takes in the stubborn set of his jaw, the defiant hunch of his shoulders, and she knows he's not going to move readily. Of course, leave it to Rogers to suddenly start taking that request as unbreakable oath...

"He's not going anywhere either, Steve… you could take a bathroom break or- "  
It's the wrong thing to say.

He glares at her and she stops in mid-sentence. His eyes are cold and stony, but so so tired and so afraid. It's like what she imagines he must've looked like as a little kid, staring at her through the eyes of a super-hero. She can't help the little flicker of stubborn protectiveness that rises in her.

"Go take a break for a few minutes. I'll keep an eye on him while you're gone."  
"No."

"_Steven Grant Rogers_!" He twitches slightly when she uses his full name. "Get your ass out of that chair and go get some food or something, right goddamn _now_!"

He levels his most capable _I am done with this_ look at her.  
"My mother's been dead for 85 years, Natasha. She's the only one who ever got to use that tone on me. I'm not moving, and I'm really not in the mood for this. Either leave me alone or get out."

"That is _it_, Rogers!" Natasha is done too.  
She's tired and frustrated and she has _had it_ with Steve's pity party, circumstances notwithstanding. "You think you're the only one here that's worried about him?!"  
She glares back into Steve's face, though she's pretty sure the effect is dampened some by his eye level just about matching hers, despite being seated.  
"I just flew halfway around the goddamn _world_ - with no backup- and infiltrated, not one, not two, but _three_ separate HYDRA outfits, just to get a pile of goddamn sticky notes, because _you _asked for my help! I haven't slept in _2 days_, and I didn't even get a chance to grab some shitty hospital coffee on my way in! So _**shut. the. hell. up**_. and. _accept. my. fucking._ _**help**_!"

Sam jolts awake when she raises her voice, but he's completely at a loss as to what he's missed. He just looks from one to the other in silent confusion.

Steve stares at her, completely taken aback. "You did… _what_?"  
"You needed to know what they did, so Banner could fix it, right?" She refuses to break eye contact, still quietly defiant. Her indignant rage is spent, but she's not letting him off the hook just yet.  
Steve shakes his head. His 'team leader' voice is leaking through the worn out tone he'd been using.  
"Yeah… but that was just dangerous. I didn't think you'd- You should've taken somebody with you. You could've gotten yourself killed. The last thing we need is more casualties-"  
"Easier and quieter alone." She interjects stubbornly. "And believe me, nobody's going to come looking for me that wasn't already."

He's silent, and for a moment, looks even more beaten down than ever.  
"Thank you." He says quietly.  
"You're welcome, you giant idiot." She says. "Now would you-" Her phone pings and she glances at it.

_Incoming Call: T. Stark. _

"Hold that thought a sec, Cap."

* * *

"Hey Romanoff, tell Captain Underpants to answer his damn phone."

"Hey Tin-can. I think he's a little busy right now. You guys come up with something?"

"Better. We brought it with us. We're landing now - how's our boy looking?"

"Like shit. Hurry up."

"On our way in."

"Good, see you in a few-"  
There's a sudden thundering crash and clattering behind her. She whips around as the machines explode into a deafening chorus of beeps and warnings. Bucky has started to seize violently, and his pulse is plunging.  
"половой акт! _GET IN HERE __**NOW**_!"


	15. Chapter 15

Everything is noise and confusion. Sam initially launches himself towards the bed, but this is way over his head. He's in rescue, basic life-saving. This is something else entirely.  
Steve is desperately trying to keep Bucky still, not knowing what else to do. Natasha just stares, frozen. She can't think.  
The three of them are quickly pushed out of the way as medical staff begin to flood the room. Natasha backs away, trying to get her mind back on track over the rush of voices and beeping and shouted commands.

"We're losing him!" cuts through the din and Steve looks like he's just been punched.  
He presses back against a wall, trying to stay out of their way. She can tell he's also trying not to hyperventilate. He has no idea what to do with himself.

Natasha glances at her phone, desperately willing Stark and Banner to hurry the hell up. They're down to minutes, if that.

Incoming text:

_T. Stark:_ _Left Dr. Berserker on the roof. He's kinda freaking out, but he shouldn't break much. Taking the direct route. Clear a window for me._

_N. Romanoff:_ _N.E. corner window, floor 3. Get your ass in here._

Silence falls momentarily as a long flat whine echoes out of the heart monitor. The seizing has stopped.

Steve snaps and starts to shoulder through the crowd, but Sam stops him. For a moment she thinks Steve is going to shove past him too, but finally he backs off. There's nothing he can do now, anyway.

"Bucky, please-"  
They all know Bucky can't hear him, but what else can he do?

_N. Romanoff:_ _NOW would be good Stark!_

The window to her left shatters as Tony bursts through it, landing in a crouch on the floor. For once, he doesn't bother with snark, just rolls to his feet and charges through the doctors who melt back out of his way.

"Man I hope Banner knows what he's doin'..." He mutters, pulling a thick glass syringe off of his belt. The needle breaks the skin of Bucky's neck and a thick, robin-egg blue liquid empties out of the chamber.

The room holds its breath.

* * *

_**I'm going to be cruel and leave it here for now. The rest of the story should be up later today. Stay tuned :)**_


	16. Chapter 16

For one long tense moment, nothing happens.

"Buck…" Steve has finally pushed through the crowd, but he can't bring himself to touch the still body on the bed. He hangs his head and shakes, trying not to give in to the urge to break something. His hands clench until little dots of blood well up around where the fingernails are crushing into his palms.

Bucky suddenly shudders violently, and even under the hum of the oxygen mask, his sudden sharp, gasping breath is clearly audible. The morbid whine of the monitor becomes a jerky, irregular beeping, then slowly steadies out. His eyes snap open, and though they are unfocused and confused, they are definitely Bucky Barnes.  
A shaking hand yanks the oxygen mask away, panting like he's just swam half a mile.

Bucky is back among the living.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's note: This site keeps eating portions of the story. I just re-posted this chapter, so apologies if the beginning got cut off. I don't know why it keeps doing this :/**

* * *

"You dramatic son of a bitch, you scared the crap out of us!" Natasha gently punches his shoulder. She wants to hug him, but that spot is currently occupied. Bucky just looks up at her, still dazed.  
His flesh arm is draped over Steve's shoulder, who is busy sobbing his guts out into Bucky's chest. She smiles at him and pats his hand.  
"Glad to have you back, Barnes."

Bucky hasn't said a word yet, and he's pretty out of it, but he's alive and that's more than good enough for now. His brain is hazy but it's slowly getting sharper, slowly coming back online. It almost… itches.  
He will later be told that what he feels is neural pathways repairing themselves, brain matter rebuilding. While he's grateful for it, it's not something he ever wants to experience again.

* * *

Sam is currently out on the roof, talking Banner down. He's the most qualified person in the building for it to begin with, and he's used to dodging super-powered assaults like a pro on top of that. Stark is running interference in case things get ugly, at least until the doctor de-greens. They've promised to be back in soon, to visit properly.

* * *

"Don't you _ever_ fucking do that to me again." Steve breathes into Bucky's chest, finally cried out.

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him.  
"Language, Rogers. Aren't you old folks supposed to have better manners than all of us whipper-snappers or something?"

"Oh like you kids...invented swearing?" A ragged voice interjects before Steve can answer her.  
It's the first thing Bucky's said since he passed out the night before. He coughs once or twice, but sarcasm has clearly come back online.  
"What he said." Steve grins and this time it reaches his eyes. Bucky weakly tussles his hair.  
"The hell would you do if you didn't have me looking out for you?" Bucky rasps.

"Have lower blood pressure, probably." Natasha smirks, heading for the door. It's a cheap shot, but she knows he'll take it in stride. He always does. "I'll leave you two brats alone for some quality time. I have a date with a triple espresso or several."  
"Grab one or several for me when you come back?" Steve calls after her.  
"Needy old geezer." She mutters with an exaggerated eye-roll, clicking the door quietly closed behind her.


	18. Chapter 18

After giving them the lecture of a lifetime -despite neither Steve or Natasha being official S.H.I.E.L.D. agents anymore- Fury pulls some strings.

He'll bawl out Bucky later, when he's back to 100%. Nick's got a whole agenda of "Next time you have a possibly life-threatening health condition, you fucking tell someone, goddamit!" planned out.

The damages to the roof and the shattered window come out of Stark's near-bottomless funds and Bucky is quietly relocated to the Avenger's Tower for rehabilitation. The whole incident somehow stays out of the news.

* * *

The rehabilitation is much faster than a normal man's might be, but it's still excruciatingly slow and dull for Bucky. The restructured serum helps, but even a super soldier has to take a little time to recover after his body goes through a near-total shutdown.

For the first week, he can barely get out of bed. The itch has spread throughout his body as weakened muscle, tissue, and bone resolidify. Even his blood rebuilds itself, and the sensation is just entirely too creepy to describe.  
The whole process is uncomfortable and annoying, and he's cranky and out of sorts for the duration. Most of the team finds a reason to be out of the tower for a while.

The following two weeks, he slowly begins to walk again. When he proves he can stay steady without falling or stumbling, Steve takes him for short-distance runs around the track in the training room. He doesn't go outside for nearly a month and it's another month after that before they'll let him anywhere near a weapon. Even then, his left arm has to be entirely recalibrated just to pick it up.

Tony lends him a DVD of a show called "The Six Million Dollar Man" one night as some kind of joke. Bucky doesn't think it's particularly funny. He uses the discs as target-practice a few days later. A neat ring of holes shatter each one in a very satisfying way.

* * *

It's about 4 months after his near-death before Bucky is finally allowed out into the field. He's practically vibrating with joy to be back in action again.

"How ya doing up there?" Steve's voice hums over the com channel.  
A rifle crack echoes over the street and the shot drops an enemy sniper from the rooftop opposite them, 30 yards away. They crash unceremoniously to the ground at Steve's feet. He steps around them and keeps moving.  
"Fine." Bucky ejects the spent shell, feeling a new round drop smoothly into the chamber. "Covering your ass like always."  
Steve can almost hear him grinning.  
"Yeah, well keep yours in one piece from here on out, will ya?" He slams his shield into an enemy combatant and sends them flying. Another sails over his head, compliments of Natasha.  
"Yessir." Another shot, another agent drops into the street. "Oh, and Steve?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Thanks. For… y'know… everything."

"Awwww...You two are adorable. " Natasha's voice cuts in. "Now shut your face holes and focus on the mission."  
"Way to ruin our male bonding time, Nat." Bucky sighs dramatically, prepping for his next shot.  
"Save it for cuddles at home, boys. We've got work to do."  
"I do not cuddle-!" Steve protests, but Bucky's laughing too loud to hear him. Steve just gives up trying to argue with them when Natasha joins in.

"You are a bitch, and I love you for it." Bucky finally responds. "Street is secure, kids. Move out."  
"That was your one freebee, Barnes. Call me that again and you might just have another unfortunate 'accident'." Natasha informs him, as she neatly drops two agents and spiral-kicks a third into a nearby wall.  
"She'll do it too." Clint chimes in.  
Bucky can see him, covering their backs from the street below. Clint draws a finger dramatically across his throat and grins.  
Bucky is pretty sure they're just joking, but with Black Widow… you never know.  
"Yes ma'am."

He secures his rifle and leaps nimbly over to the next rooftop, scouting for more agents as he moves. Nobody is getting the drop on his team today.

It feels good to _have_ a team again. Good to have a family. Feels good just to be alive, really. He plans to make the most of it.

* * *

_**And that's a wrap. Hope you all enjoyed it :) Reviews are, as always, appreciated :)**_


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